The Stranger She Married

by Donna Hatch

  "Come inside, Parker, we need to have that attended."

  "Jest a scratch, milord."

  Cole helped the man climb down while Alicia stood by feeling useless. As they mounted the front steps, she offered her arm to the coachman who obliged her, but leaned more heavily on Cole.

  "I'm sorry,” she said to them both.

  The coachman managed a weak smile, revealing a gap in his teeth. “We wouldn't let the likes o’ them ‘ave ye, milady."

  Servants swarmed around them as Cole explained. Mrs. Hodges waded in, shooing the rest away. “Come on then, let's have a look at you. Potter, send for the doctor.” She led him away, leaving Cole and Alicia in the foyer.

  In the dim lighting, Alicia saw a dark stain spreading on Cole's arm below a tiny hole in his sleeve. “You're hurt,” she gasped in alarm.

  "It's not bad."

  "Mrs. Hodges!"

  Alicia's frantic cry brought the woman running. “The driver will be all right. I've sent for the doctor—” she began and then stopped short. “You, too, my lord?"

  "It's nothing."

  "You men!” Mrs. Hodges sighed in exasperation. “Come into the kitchen where the light is better and let me have a look at you."

  "I'm only grazed,” Cole protested.

  Her eyes flicked to Cole's. “My lord would have my head if he thought I hadn't seen to you properly."

  Cole's mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “Very well."

  They lit every lamp in the kitchen before Mrs. Hodges peeled off his cravat, frockcoat, and waistcoat. With his shirt unbuttoned, he pulled the neckline aside just enough to expose his wounded shoulder. Alicia set her teeth, unable to keep her eyes off the rounded, solid muscles of his chest and shoulder. His body had been beautifully sculpted. Even wounded, he was large, powerful, and oh, so wholly male.

  The bullet had cut a path through the flesh of his upper arm below the shoulder. The wound still bled freely.

  "It's not bad, my lady,” Mrs. Hodges assured Alicia.

  Alicia hoped she would never see a wound that the intrepid housekeeper would consider serious. This one made her shiver. While Alicia helped Mrs. Hodges clean the wound, Cole's eyes remained shielded.

  The desire to offer him comfort beset her. “Does it hurt very badly?"

  He shook his head but his teeth remained clenched.

  Mrs. Hodges scoffed. “Asking a man if it hurts will never bring the truth. They think they have to be so manly. But really, they're just big children. I'm going to need fresh bandages. I'll be back momentarily.” She swept out of the room.

  Cole stirred. “I'm sure it must give you some sense of justice seeing me this way."

  She stared at him, completely caught off-guard by his comment. “No. Of course not. How can you say that?"

  The shields dropped, baring his self-recrimination. “Poetic justice, I suppose, since this is what I did to your twin."

  Alicia sank into a kitchen chair next to him. She kept her voice soft, but spoke with fervor. “I take no satisfaction seeing you hurt."

  He continued as if he had not heard her. “If I develop a sickness and die, you can dance on my grave. Perhaps I should insist they cut off my arm first."

  Truly alarmed, she leaned in. “No. I do not wish you to.... “She could not even bring herself to say the word.

  She wanted to hold him, comfort him, reassure him. Blood ran continually down his arm. She cleaned it again, wondering if a man as strong as he could actually die from such a minor wound as this.

  She forced cheer into her voice. “This is only a scratch. You shouldn't sicken from this."

  "It's no worse than I did to Armand,” he said darkly.

  Panic seized her at the thought of the possibility of Cole lying feverish and dying. “I'll have the doctor—"

  Cole stood, his face wooden, and looked down at her, his chest rising and falling quickly as if he found breathing difficult. “Don't trouble yourself. My valet comes from Romany stock and has more medical knowledge than any English doctor I know. He'll attend me.” He took the cloth from her hand and pressed it to his arm. With his other hand, he scooped up his discarded clothing and headed for the door.

  "Cole."

  He halted, his broad back still toward her.

  "Thank you. For saving me. You are very courageous. I'm sorry you and the coachman got hurt."

  He turned slowly. “I will never allow harm to come to you."

  "I know. And I owe you an apology."

  He stared.

  "You've tried to help me many ways, the offer you made to my uncle, paying his debts and sponsoring Hannah for a Season. That was most generous. And thoughtful. As was the offer to elope. And then you convinced your cousin to marry me and give me a place of safety. I never thanked you for your kindness. Instead, I've been rude and hateful to you. I'm sorry."

  He watched her, his blue eyes carefully shuttered. “You lost your brother and your parents because of me."

  "I had painted you as a monster, but I was wrong. And I had become so comfortable blaming you for all my troubles that it clouded my judgment."

  He swallowed hard. “Alicia, I swear to you by all that's holy, if I could change the past, I would."

  She teared up at the anguish in his face. “I know. After you told me about the events that led up to—” she choked, “the duel, I realized that you never meant to really harm him. Or me. For the first time, I see you clearly."

  He grimaced. “You might not like me any better, then."

  She laughed softly. “I like you better now that I'm not trying so hard to hate you. I truly am sorry for being so terrible to you.” She rose up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his cheek, resisting the urge to kiss those lips that so recently had devoured hers and reawaken the passion that had been between them only moments ago.

  He stood with his eyes closed for a moment before turning to stride quickly away.

  Desolate without him, Alicia resisted the urge to call him back. She realized kissing Cole in the carriage had been a catastrophic mistake. Guilt for betraying her husband ate through to her soul. She wept for the man she could never have and cursed herself for being so faithless.

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  CHAPTER 21

  Cole glared at the canopy over his bed and watched the shadows slowly slip from the room as the sunrise sent thin rays between the draperies.

  Stephens had cleaned his arm where the bullet had grazed him and applied several painful methods of insuring sickness would not set in. After Stephens sewed the wound and properly bandaged it, Cole sent him away with every intention of pacing the floor restlessly, but apparently Stephens had given him something to make him sleep. The wretch.

  Painfully, he rose. He tried to dress without waking Stephens, but his sore arm prevented him from doing anything so independent and forced him to ring for help.

  Stephens entered, looking disgustingly fresh and alert, and all too pleased with himself. He cleaned the wound again. “This will be fine, no need to worry.” He wound a bandage around it.

  "I need to shave and dress."

  "You should stay abed and rest another day."

  "Stop coddling me and help me dress,” Cole snarled.

  Stephens wisely kept silent, but continued to fix him with looks of remonstration.

  "How is Parker?” Cole asked.

  "Well enough. I looked in on him after I left you and cleaned off the manure the doctor put on the wound and dressed it properly.” He shook his head. “I'm surprised people ever heal with the imbeciles the English have for doctors. Romany children know more about healing.” He pushed on Cole's boots.

  "I slept from dawn yesterday until dawn today. You drugged me,” Cole accused.

  Stephens grinned, his teeth a flash of white against his brown face. “You have to sleep sometime. I figured that was as good a time as any since you were wounded and all. And you had about a month's worth of sleep to catch up on."

  Cole glared at him. “I'
m going to make you taste all my drinks from now on."

  "Yes, Your Majesty. Shall I taste all your meals, too?"

  "Insolent cur."

  Stephens grinned.

  Cole cuffed him on the back of his head but Stephens took more exception to the fact that his hair had been mussed. He hastily smoothed it.

  Outside, the air was brisk and clean, with a faint mist hanging about the trees. Dawn glimmered on the far edge of the world, but there would be enough light to find his way. He knew the grounds well enough to navigate in total darkness. The lamps were already lit in the stables as the grooms and stable lads went about their work.

  Cole greeted the workers briefly before moving down the row of stalls. “I've neglected you of late, André,” he said to his favorite horse. He offered an apple he'd pilfered from the kitchen. Talking soothingly to André, he tried to tack him up, but the pain in his arm forced him to accept aid from a vigilant stable lad.

  Mist swirled around him like sleepy wraiths as horse and rider walked to the open field, but when Cole urged André to a gallop, darts of pain shot through his arm and he was forced to slow. While birds serenaded him with their morning chorus, Cole wended his way through the grounds and down the hollow leading to the woods. Wind whispered through the leaves.

  As he thought back over the events of the highwaymen attack, Cole scrutinized each word, each act. Why did they demand Alicia? Normally they only desired money or jewels rather than prisoners. They seemed to know who it was that they had attacked, at least that a girl was in the carriage. More specifically, they'd wanted ‘the girl,’ as if they had been after her in particular. If they knew who they were stopping, he, as a viscount and son of an earl, clearly outranked the lesser title of baron's wife and should have been the object of their demands. Most people assumed that the higher the title, the more wealth they possessed. So why did the highwaymen not ask for him instead of her? Unless they were not simple highwaymen.

  And prior to that, someone of shady character had come into town asking for Lord and Lady Amesbury. Right before her room caught on fire. Slow dread crept in.

  For weeks, the nagging suspicion that her parents had not died in a mere accident had grown. And as he thought back on the duel, and the events preceding and following it, his instincts whispered of sinister forces at work. Perhaps it was time to do a little investigating.

  And what to do now about Alicia?

  He had two choices. He could leave and try to banish her from his thoughts, or he could try and coax her into liking him.

  He grinned. If her kiss was any indication, she liked him at least at some level. And her words in the kitchen gave him hope.

  But Alicia was not the kind of woman with whom a man could merely trifle. He knew the first day he met her that she would never consider a dalliance. Any man who would win her affection would have to be willing to offer her his heart first.

  Offer her his heart.

  He couldn't do that. And unless he did, she would never be his.

  But he didn't love her.

  Then why did his thoughts always spiral back to her? And why could he not sleep for the yearning of her?

  * * * *

  "I need to go to London on business. Would you care to accompany me?"

  Alicia looked up at the expressionless mask that concealed her husband's face. “London?"

  "I know it isn't the Season, so there may not be as much to do as you would like, but between the theater, opera, and the modiste, we might be able to keep you busy. And I do have friends who live there at this unfashionable time of year and would welcome you. Someone is always sponsoring a rising musician or hosting a charity function."

  Alicia laid down her pen on the writing desk and gave him her full attention, her letter to Elizabeth forgotten.

  London. She hadn't been there in a year and a half. Living here with only her untouchable husband and the servants had left her feeling restless, caged. The ball should have solved that, but instead her thoughts centered on Cole whose easy laughter but tortured eyes tormented her constantly.

  "I think I would like to go to London."

  "Excellent. Tell Monique to pack your things. We'll leave at the end of the week."

  Alicia spent the next several days in a flurry of excitement. Her enthusiasm even seemed to rub off on her quiet husband who seemed to have more energy than normal.

  "The staff at my house in London have been informed of our arrival and should have the house in order by the time we arrive,” he told her as they skirted the edges of the lake. Two swans glided silently by, leaving ripples in their wake. The lake mirrored a clear blue sky, darker in the reflection. Deep blue, like Cole's eyes.

  With a start, she smothered any further thoughts of Cole Amesbury and fixed her mind upon her upcoming trip to London. She realized her husband was speaking, his soft, muffled voice outlining details of his Town home and of the servants’ names and duties.

  "I understand Cole returned to London last week. Perhaps he will agree to escort you to the diversions the Town offers when I am unable."

  At the mention of Cole's name, her cheeks heated. “I'm sure he is quite busy."

  The baron turned to her. “Did you not enjoy your time at the ball with him? He said you spent much of the evening together."

  "Yes, of course I did. He was very attentive to me."

  "I knew he would be."

  "My lord.” She hesitated. “Do you trust him that much?"

  "Why? Was he not a gentleman?” he asked sharply.

  Oh, heavens, she couldn't have her husband challenging Cole to a duel! “Yes, of course he was,” she replied quickly, her face warming at the lie. “But are you sure he will remain such?"

  With a slight chuckle in his voice, he said, “You are a temptation to any man, Alicia. I am sure that he is not immune to your charm. However, I trust he knows his place."

  Alicia frowned at her husband's choice of words.

  "And did he not protect you when the highwaymen attacked?"

  "Yes. He was very brave.” She paused. “A bullet grazed his arm."

  "A minor wound that has healed completely.” His voice sounded flat.

  She took a breath. “I thought you were close. But you often speak of him in less than flattering tones."

  "I love him like a brother. But he is whole. I am trapped inside this mask. I cannot help but envy him."

  * * * *

  Their trip to London began at the same slow pace as their trip to their estate had been right after their wedding ceremony, with frequent stops for meals and stays overnight at the posting inns that dotted the roads. Monique saw to her every need with tender loyalty. The baron watched over her protectively, and their conversation grew more comfortable.

  One morning, as she left the inn and climbed into the front carriage, she paused. Both footmen and the coachman carried guns.

  She turned to her husband. “We are traveling heavily armed."

  "I am taking no chances with your safety, My Lady."

  "Because of the highwaymen attack?"

  "I fear that may not have been an isolated incident.” He handed her in and climbed slowly in to sit across from her. He laid his cane on the floor and wedged it to prevent it from rolling.

  "Meaning, you think highwaymen are getting bolder, or that they were specifically after me?"

  "I have not yet decided.” He offered no more on the subject and steered the conversation to other matters.

  The crowded streets of London caused them to wind slowly along their way. The working classes hurried along in the streets and the parks today, while the nobility were notably absent. Most left the city for the summer months and would not return to Town until the Season began.

  The baron's coach stopped in Pall Mall near a beautiful park in front of a house with a tastefully elegant façade.

  "Home at last,” Lord Amesbury muttered, his muffled voice betraying an uncharacteristic tone of irritability.

  Her eyes moved to
her husband. With shame, she realized that he was probably miserable always wearing his hood and mask.

  Inside, the town home rivaled his country home in grandeur. With Grecian flavor, the entry boasted of sweeping staircases and marble floors that managed to be lavish without being ostentatious.

  Her husband presented her to the staff and then she was led to her room. Peach silk papered the walls, and the furniture was white and gilded.

  After a taking a bath and changing into her evening gown, Alicia felt much more refreshed. The servants seemed eager to please her and the meal was excellent, but eating alone invoked a deep loneliness. Normally, Lord Amesbury joined her as she finished dinner, but tonight he failed to appear. Perhaps the journey had aggravated old wounds.

  As the sun set, she stepped out to the diminutive city gardens under a sky darkening with thunderclouds. A chill gust of air flowed over her. Deeply breathing, Alicia let her head fall back and closed her eyes. Moments later, the soft pattering of raindrops broke the stillness of the evening. Alicia remained still, reveling in the icy drops on her face.

  Her thoughts inexplicably turned to Cole. She remembered the hurt in his eyes after he'd been shot defending her. Not from the pain of the bullet, but the thought she might be glad he had suffered the same wound he had inflicted on Armand. A few months ago, she might have felt a grim satisfaction at the poetic justice fate dealt him. Now that her feelings toward him had softened, seeing him wounded only grieved her.

  She pressed her hands over her face. This would not do.

  When the rain began to fall with more force, she went back inside. As she approached a liveried servant hovering nearby, he jumped to attention.

  "My lady?"

  "Where is Lord Amesbury?"

  "Resting, my lady. He took his meal in his room and has not come out. Rather tired from the trip, I should think."

  His valet, Jeffries, approached. “My lady? My lord sends his regrets. He is quite fatigued. He will not be joining you this evening."

  Disappointed, she murmured, “Thank you, Jeffries."

  Alicia mounted the stairs to the drawing room and sat by the windows, listening to the soothing cadence of the softly falling rain. Turning, her eyes fell upon a richly carved pianoforte.